


Seeking Asylum

by NotALemon



Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e10 Asylum, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Gabriel and Dean Winchester's Rivalry, Gabriel and Sam Winchester in Love, M/M, Protective Gabriel (Supernatural), Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: Sam snorts, bitterly, and stands from his chair to pace the room, running a hand through his hair, then rubbing at his jaw in annoyance. “This is a job,” he snaps. “Dad wants us to work a job.”“I mean, maybe we’ll meet up with him? Maybe he’s there?” Dean suggests, sounding like a hopeful child.“Maybe he’s not?” Sam suggests back, shrugging. “I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.”“We have an angel,” Dean points out, closing the laptop and standing from the table. “And-- Who cares! If he wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam looks at Dean, occasionally glancing at Gabriel.“Sam! Dad’s tellin’ us to go somewhere, we’regoin’,” Dean snaps, obedient as always, especially when it comes to John’s orders.
Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643980
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Seeking Asylum

Don’t go off alone in a decrepit building, or you might end up getting possessed.

-

Sam’s on his phone in the motel room, sitting on one of the beds, the bright red striped comforter not nearly as headache-inducing compared to the headache that is finding John fucking Winchester. “No, Dad was in California last we heard from him,” he says, soft but irritated. “We just thought-- he comes to you for munitions-- maybe you’ve seen him in the last few weeks.” Sam looks at Gabriel across the room, completely dejected. “Thanks.”

“You bet,” the man over the phone says.

“Caleb hasn’t heard from him?” Dean asks from his makeshift desk where he’s flipping through John’s journal fruitlessly, glaring at the chaotic, sticky note-covered pages like they’ll suddenly tell him their secrets.

“Nope,” Sam says, flipping his phone shut and clutching it between his hands. “And neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?”

“No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out,” Dean says, turning pages in annoyance. “I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like friggin’ Yoda.”

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds,” Sam suggests. “File a missing person’s.”

“We’ve talked about this. Dad’d be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail,” Dean argues.

“I don’t care anymore.” Sam looks over at Gabriel for a moment. Dean’s cell phone rings, and he walks across the room to get it. “After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean… he should’ve been there, Dean.” Sam watches Dean’s back. “You said so yourself. You tried to call him and…” Sam shrugs. “Nothing.”

Gabriel gets off the bed and stands by Sam’s side. 

“I know!” Dean says, irate, digging through his duffel bag, unearthing a mass of crumpled clothes. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

“You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

“Hey,” Gabriel chastises gently. 

“Don’t say that!” Dean says. “He’s not dead! He’s-- He’s…” Dean makes a limp hand gesture, punctuated by annoyance.

“He’s _what_?” Sam asks, glaring at his brother. “He’s hiding? He’s _busy_?”

Gabriel bumps his shoulder against Sam’s arm. “Hey,” he says, again. “Cupcake.”

Dean flips open his cell phone and checks his texts. “Huh,” he says, quietly, grinning down at the little screen. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Sam asks, still irate, but now more curious.

Dean sits on the other bed. “It’s, uh…” he looks up from his phone and looks at Sam. “It’s a text message. It’s coordinates.”

Dean gets out the laptop, Sam hovering around him like a moon in orbit, Gabriel clinging to his side. 

“You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asks.

“He’s given us coordinates before,” Dean says, tapping away on the laptop. 

“The man can barely work a _toaster_ , Dean,” Sam argues. 

Gabriel holds in a laugh, knowing it’s inappropriate to laugh at that moment but wanting to.

“Sam, it’s good news! It means he’s okay, or alive, at least.” 

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, it said ‘unknown’.”

“Well, where do the coordinates point?” Sam asks, more irritated now than he seemed to before. Gabriel takes one of Sam’s hands in his own and holds it tightly, almost trying to drown him.

“That’s the interesting part,” Dean says “Rockford, Illinoise.”

“Okay, and that’s interesting how?”

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” Dean swivels the laptop around to show Sam, angling it just a little so it’s a little difficult for Gabriel to see. Gabriel lets it slide this once to keep their tense peace, if only for Sam’s sake. It’s only for Sam’s sake that he puts up with half of the shit Dean does, and he knows sam’s the reason Dean puts up with him, too. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I’m not following,” Sam says, deadpan and bitchy. “What does this have to do with us?”

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean looks around for John’s journal and picks it up, leafing through the messy pages until he finds what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says, pointing at the table, the page opposite of a Wendigo woodcut. “Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-- til last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.” He smiles at Sam, proud of himself for putting it all together.

Sam snorts, bitterly, and stands from his chair to pace the room, running a hand through his hair, then rubbing at his jaw in annoyance. “This is a job,” he snaps. “Dad wants us to work a job.”

“I mean, maybe we’ll meet up with him? Maybe he’s there?” Dean suggests, sounding like a hopeful child.

“Maybe he’s not?” Sam suggests back, shrugging. “I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“We have an angel,” Dean points out, closing the laptop and standing from the table. “And-- Who cares! If he wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”

“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam looks at Dean, occasionally glancing at Gabriel.

“Sam! Dad’s tellin’ us to go somewhere, we’re _goin’_ ,” Dean snaps, obedient as always, especially when it comes to John’s orders.

Sam gives Dean one of his many annoyed looks, then looks at Gabriel, softening a little. 

-

Sam sits in the back of the Impala with Gabriel instead of sitting shotgun as usual. Gabriel leans against his side, messing around on his DS, oddly quiet.

-

In one of those typical roadside bars that Sam and Dean have made themselves home in for a great portion of their lives, a police officer sits at the wooden bar, nursing his beer. He looks troubled in that ragged, quiet way that people who work with people do, who have seen _things_ look. 

Dean slides into the chair across from him. “You’re Daniel Gunderson,” he says. “You’re a cop, right?”

“Yeah,” Gunderson says, looking at Dean with suspicion.

“Huh,” Dean says. He shuffles a little, playing up the persona. “I’m, uh, Nigel Tufnel, The Chicago Tribune. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, about your partner?”

“Yeah, I do,” Gunderson says, firmly. “I’m just tryin’ to have a beer here.”

“That’s okay, I swear it won’t take that long. I just want to get the story in your words,” Dean wheedles.

“A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. Now he’s dead. You gonna ambush me _here_?”

“Sorry,” Dean says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I need to know what happened.”

Gabriel pushes Dean aside roughly. Sam appears by his side as backup, pushing him back towards Gabriel.

“Hey buddy, why don’t you leave the poor guy alone, huh?” Sam asks, aggressively. “The man’s an officer! Why dontcha show a little respect?”

Dean pauses, staring at both of them, then walks off, acting intimidated.

“You boys didn’t havta do that,” Gunderson says to them. 

“Yeah, we had to,” Gabriel says. “That guy? He’s a serious dick.”

“Let me buy you a beer, huh?” Sam looks at the bartender. “Three?”

“Thanks,” Gunderson replies.

-

Sam and Gabriel walk from the bar, shoulder to shoulder (more like shoulder to elbow), looking smug.

Dean looks at them from where he’s leaning on the Impala, hands shoved firmly in his jacket pockets. “Shoved me kinda hard in there, guys.”

“Had to sell it, didn’t we?” Sam asks, arms spread. 

“It’s called method acting, kiddo,” Gabriel says, giving him finger guns.

Dean’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Sam says, eyes flicking over to Gabriel, hoping he’s not going to start anything tonight. He walks in an arc behind the Impala until he’s directly across from Dean.

“What’d you find out from Gunderson?” Dean asks.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop,” Sam begins, leaning against the Impala’s roof, folding his hands together on top of it. “Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

Dean nods. “What about at home?”

“Well, y’know, he and the missus had some fights-- who doesn’t--, but they were a real Barbie and Ken. Even talked ‘bout having some little ones.” Gabriel rocks a little, shifting his weight from heel to toe a couple of times.

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waitin’ to bust out, or somethin’ else did it to him,” Dean reasons.

“Right,” Sam says.

“What’d Gunderson tell you about the asylum?” Dean asks.

“A whole lot,” Gabriel says.

-

Gabriel snaps the three of them into the decrepit asylum, not letting Sam and Dean bother with climbing over the chain link fence and breaking in properly.

“Huh,” Dean says, looking around. The room is an absolute disaster, its years of trespassing teenagers showing in the empty liquor bottles scattered around and graffiti coating the walls. It’s a place he wouldn’t have minded going to as a teenager, just for the free alcohol and easy lays. “That's kinda useful.” 

“Yeah, he is.” Sam looks at Gabriel with gentle affection. Gabriel beams back at him. 

Dean clears his throat, mostly only pretending to be disgusted by his brother and Gabriel’s affection. It’s actually kinda nice that one of them found someone, since their chances of a permanent, stable relationship are in the slim-to-none range, what with everything that’s happened to them all their lives. Still, that’s his _brother_ that the centuries-old archangel makes _fuck me_ eyes at all the time, and _that’s_ just disgusting. Good teasing material, but disgusting.

Sam looks away from Gabriel, then looks around. He finds a sign over one of the doors. “So, apparently the cops chased the kids here into the south wing.” He points at the sign, reading _SOUTH WING_ in big, blocky gray letters across the fading white wood.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second.” Dean flips through John’s journal, repeating _south wing_ until he finds the page once more. _Teenagers Die in Abandoned Hospital Fire_ , the headline of a newspaper reads. “1972,” he says. “Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lightin’ up the place.” Dean looks up at Sam, eyebrows raised.

“So whatever’s happenin’ ‘round these parts, the south wing’s the heart of it,” Gabriel says.

“But if the kids’re spelunking the asylum, why aren’t there a ton more deaths?” Dean asks.

Sam looks around the grimy room, noting a broken length of chain on the door to the south wing. “Looks like the doors are usually chained.”

“Probably could’a been chained up for years,” Gabriel adds.

“Yeah, to keep people out.” Dean looks at the door. “Or to keep something in,” he says, ominously, flipping the journal closed.

They all look at each other. Sam slowly pushes the graffitied door open with a squeak.

-

The group walks down a hallway. Grimy doesn’t even begin to cover the state of the place, walls and floors disgusting from years of abandonment, the only light filtering in through filmy windows.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel,” Dean says. 

“Dude, enough,” Sam says.

“Or, uh, you over there, Father Damien Karras. See any demons or--”

“Oh, we got a real jokester over there,” Gabriel says.

“I’m serious,” Dean says, with a chuckle. “You gotta be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got goin’ on.” Dean gestures to Sam, not quite knowing how to describe whatever Gabriel has.

“I told you, it’s not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.” Sam shrugs.

Gabriel reaches out and takes Sam’s hand in his own. “If they’re attracted to _any_ of us, it’d probably be me. No offense to Sam and you, but, _hello_ , archangel!”

Dean gives Gabriel a look, then looks at Sam. “You couldn’t settle for just a dude that goes to church on Sunday. No, you _had_ to pick a friggin’ _archangel_.”

Sam shrugs again, squeezing Gabriel’s hand. “Did you get any reading on that thing or not?”

“Nope,” Dean says, looking down at the homemade detector. “Of course, it doesn’t mean no one’s home.”

“Spirits can’t appear during certain hours of the day,” Sam says.

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

Dean looks at Sam over his shoulder. “Hey Gabriel,” he deadpans, “who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or Sam?”

“Like it’s a contest?” Gabriel asks. He detaches his hand from Sam’s to slide it into Sam’s back pocket instead. “It’s Hewitt.”

Sam elbows Gabriel’s shoulder. Dean laughs.

-

They check out another room, full of medical supplies so old they’re essentially medieval torture weapons. Jars of human organs sit untouched and likely rotted. A couple rusty old wheelchairs lay strewn about.

Dean whistles as he inspects the dusty old surfaces of the room and the detector. “Man,” he says. “Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to those people. Kinda like my man Jack in _Cuckoo’s Nest_.” Dean makes crazy eyes, grinning at Sam.

Sam and Gabriel ignore him. Dean’s smile falls. They all look around some more.

“So. Whaddya think? Ghosts possessin’ people?” Dean asks, deflated.

“Maybe,” Sam says. “Or maybe it’s more like, uh, like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting.”

Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. “Astute observation, cupcake.”

“Spirits drivin’ them insane,” Dean says. “Kinda like my man Jack in _The Shining_.” He grins at his own joke.

“Dean,” Sam says, voice weighed down with seriousness. He only continues when Dean turns to look at him. “When are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Dean asks.

“About the fact Dad’s not here.”

“Oh. Uh, I see.” Dean pauses to think. “How ‘bout… never.”

“I’m bein’ serious, man,” Sam says. “He sent us here…”

“So am I, Sam,” Dean says. “Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.” 

“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Sam says, irritated.

“See. That attitude? Right there?” Dean points at Sam. “That is why I always get the extra cookie.” 

“Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we’re talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he’s given us an order.”

“So what, we gotta always follow Dad’s orders?” Sam asks.

“Of course we do,” Dean argues.

Sam looks at Dean, frustrated. Dean stares at him for a moment then turns away, ending their conversation.

Gabriel takes Sam’s hand once more, holding it tightly.

Dean pokes around a couple of the countertops before picking up a dusty old sign. “‘Sanford Ellicott’,” he reads. He walks over to Sam and Gabriel, handing Sam the sign. “You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.”

Dean turns and walks away, leaving the sign with Sam and Gabriel, who look down at it, Sam with annoyance at being stuck with the research again and Gabriel with mild interest.

-

Sam sits on a couch in the clean, neat waiting room of the therapy building, looking through one of those magazines that you only find in these waiting rooms and nowhere else. Gabriel sits to his side at a respectable distance in public, holding Sam’s hand politely and playing his DS with the other. A man comes to the open door, a sign to the side reading _Dr. James Ellicott, Clinical Psychiatry_.

“Sam Winchester?” Ellicott asks.

“That’s me,” Sam says.

“Come on in,” Ellicott says. 

Sam stands from the couch, tossing the copy of _Men’s Health_ onto the leather. 

“Have fun,” Gabriel says, watching Sam leave as he and Ellicott leave the waiting room.

“Thanks again for seeing me last minute,” Sam says, politely. He looks around the room, at a picture of Dr. Ellicott and his daughter, at a plaque with Dr. Ellicott’s name on it, congratulating him for 15 years of service to Rockford. “Dr… Ellicott. Ellicott, that name. Wasn’t there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott?” Sam asks, trying to be casual. He feels uncomfortable and seen in the clean little office, in his dark polo over his dark shirt, even without the sleeves pulled up over his fingers like he does when he normally feels uncomfortable. He’s a goddamn adult. He needs to act like one. “Yeah, he was a chief psychiatrist somewhere.”

“My father was a chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum,” Ellicott replies. “How did you know?”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorta… a local history buff,” Sam lies. “Hey, wasn’t there, uh, an incident, or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”

“We’re on your dollar, Sam,” Ellicott reminds, gently. “We’re here to talk about you.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“So,” Dr. Ellicott says.

“So,” Sam replies, more nervous now than before. 

“How’s things?” Dr. Ellicott asks.

“Ah, things are good, doctor.” Sam offers Dr. Ellicott a wide smile.

“Good,” Ellicott says. “Whatcha been doing?”

“Uh, same old,” Sam says, keeping it casual. “I just been on a… on a road trip with my brother and my-- my boyfriend. Gabriel. He’s, uh, in the waiting room, actually.”

“Was that fun?” Dr. Ellicott asks.

Sam pauses for a moment. “Loads,” he says, finally, forcing the word out. “Umm. You know, we… ah... we… met… a lot of… interesting people,” he says, hesitant. “Did a lot of… uh… lot of interesting things, you know?” He pauses again. “You know, what was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget--”

“Look, if you’re a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot.”

“The riot,” Sam says. “Well, no. I know. I’m just… curious.”

“Sam,” Dr. Ellicott says, curtly. “Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.” He sets his clipboard on his desk and moves his rolling desk chair closer to Sam.

“What subject?” Sam asks, far more uncomfortable now than before, panicking at the directness.

“You,” Dr. Ellicott says. “Now I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, uh, this brother you’re road tripping with. And your boyfriend, Gabriel. How do you feel about them?”

Sam looks terrified at the prospect of talking about himself, about being honest about himself in front of a complete stranger, especially about Dean. Gabriel, he’s more honest and open about, his feelings are less complicated, but his brother?

-

Gabriel looks up from his DS when Sam exits the room, looking drained. He stands from the couch and looks at Sam with that intense look in his eyes. 

Sam exchanges final pleasantries with Dr. Ellicott and takes Gabriel’s hand.

“Do you wanna talk ‘bout it, honeybun?”

Sam looks at Gabriel. “Later,” he promises.

Gabriel nods and walks out of the building with Sam. Dean’s leaning against the glass windows outside of the door, bored. He joins Sam and Gabriel when they walk past him. 

“Dude! You were in there forever,” Dean says. “What the hell were you talkin’ about?”

“Just the hospital, you know,” Sam answers, vaguely. He doesn’t want to broach the subject _with_ the subject, so to speak. To Gabriel, he can talk all about his feelings about his brother and his father and his childhood, but to Dean? They don’t have that type of bond. He can’t just _tell_ Dean all his complicated emotions without either getting laughed at or starting a fight.

Sam grips Gabriel’s hand harder and continues walking, Dean keeping pace.

“And…?” Dean presses.

“And the south wing? It’s where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane,” Sam explains. He lists them off on his fingers, thinking about how he’d probably be in there, if he were alive at the time. 

“Sounds cozy,” Dean remarks, dryly.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “And one night in ‘64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.”

“So, what, the patients took over the asylum?” Dean asks.

“How about that,” Gabriel says. 

“Any deaths?” Dean asks.

“Some patients, some staff,” Sam says, stopping at the Impala. “I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

Gabriel hums, still eyeing Sam. He can get a sense of what’s happening in Sam’s head without dipping too deep, Sam’s thoughts too loud for him to contain, but he refuses to dive any deeper out of respect.

“Whaddaya mean, never recovered?” Dean asks.

“Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must’ve…” Sam shakes his head at the thought, “stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden.” He shrugs.

“Grim,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “So, they transferred all the remaining patients and shut down the hospital for good.”

“So, to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies,” Dean says.

“Don’t forget all the angry spirits,” Gabriel adds.

“Good times,” Dean says. “Let’s check out the hospital tonight.”

-

Gabriel snaps them into the asylum once more, back in front of the South Wing doors. Sam has a video camera and a flashlight in his hands, Dean an EMF meter. Gabriel opens the door, looking around curiously.

“Getting readings?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, big time,” Dean says.

“Oh, we’re _haunted_ haunted, boys,” Gabriel says. “You’re going to have to bust some serious ghosts.”

“This place is orbing like crazy,” Sam agrees, looking at the camera, where there are at least five bright white orbs in different places in the room.

“Probably multiple spirits out and about,” Dean says.

“And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ‘em and burn ‘em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed-off spirit is the pissed-off spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean looks down at his EMF meter.

They continue walking, but Gabriel looks at a wall. Behind it, there is a bald man in a straight jacket, looking ill and rotted, head twitching furiously, Jacob’s Ladder-style.

-

Sam and Dean split into two different rotted rooms, Gabriel looking around the hallway, oddly calm for someone who knows he’s surrounded by spirits. But that’s Gabriel. He knows those sons of bitches can’t do anything to him.

Sam looks around the room with the camcorder and flashlight, taking everything in. Other than the orbs and general nastiness of the room, there isn't anything that significant about it. He’s still freaked out. It’s only human of him.

He spots a white-haired old woman with one bloody eye hanging from her socket through the camera and flinches, lowering it to reveal the woman standing in front of him, zombie-shuffling towards him.

“Dean?! Gabe?!” 

Dean rushes into the room and digs through his bag.

“Shotgun!” Sam yells.

“Sam, get down!” Dean yells.

Sam throws himself to the ground while Dean shoots the woman, who disintegrates into a cloud of dust.

Gabriel hangs in the doorway, watching it all happen.

“That was weird,” Sam says, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me,” Dean says. He looks at Gabriel. “Hey, I saved your boyfriend’s ass, no thanks to you.” 

Gabriel gives him a dry, annoyed look.

Dean pushes past him. Sam follows his brother. Gabriel tags along.

“No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn’t attack me.”

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standin’,” Dean says.

“She didn’t hurt me,” Sam says. “She didn’t even try! So if she didn’t wanna hurt me, then what did she want?”

Gabriel looks at Sam, wordlessly wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist. “There’s something going on here,” he says, quietly.

“No shit there’s somethin’ goin’ on here,” Dean says. He starts leading them down the hallway. 

There’s a noise coming from another room. Dean raises his shotgun. Sam flicks on the flashlight and shines it into the room, his other hand wrapped around Gabriel’s shoulders. They approach a metal bed frame overturned on its side, covered in a ragged white sheet. The top of a blonde head shivers behind the bed. 

“Put down the gun,” Gabriel hisses.

“Oh, I’m not listenin’ to you,” Dean hisses back.

Sam reaches out and tips the bed over, revealing a teenage girl crouched in the corner. She spins around, looking at them with terror, gasping.

“It’s alright, we’re not goin’ to hurt you,” Dean says. “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Katherine,” the girl says, shakily, standing from where she was huddled in the corner. “Kat.”

“Hi Kat,” Gabriel says, gently. “I’m Gabriel, this’s Sam, my boyfriend, and that’s his brother Dean.” 

“What are you doing here?!” Sam asks, frantic.

“Um,” Kat says, catching her breath. “My boyfriend, Gavin.”

“Is he here?” Dean asks.

“Somewhere,” Kat says. “He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts.” She sniffles. “I thought it was all just… you know. _Pretend_.” She wraps her pink cardigan around herself protectively and crosses her arms. “I’ve seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…”

“Alright,” Dean says. “Kat? Come on. Sam’s gonna get you out of here and then we’re gonna find your boyfriend.”

“No!” Kat says. “No. I’m not going to leave without Gavin. I’m coming with you.”

“It’s no joke around here, okay,” Dean says. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s why I gotta find him.”

The Winchesters and Gabriel look at each other. Sam shrugs. Gabriel sighs.

“So, split up and search for clues?” Gabriel asks.

-

Gabriel holds Sam’s hand as they walk through the abandoned halls, allowing Sam to lead the way, calling out Gavin’s name. 

-

Kat looks through a window so grimy it hardly qualifies as a window anymore. “Gavin? Gavin?”

“I got a question for ya,” Dean says, scathing as ever. “You’ve seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?”

“I guess so,” Kat says, nonchalant.

Dean faces her. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Next time you see one? Pay attention. When someone says a place is haunted, _don’t go in_.” He walks away, Kat following.

They move out of the room, a dark shape moving from behind the grimy window.

-

Sam sees Gavin unconscious on the ground next to an overturned bathtub and crouches down cautiously to shake him, careful. “Hey, Gavin,” Sam says, quietly.

Gavin wakes, freaking out when he sees them, shouting and shaking. 

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Gabriel says. “We’re here to help. We’re gonna keep you safe.”

“Who are you?” Gavin asks.

“My name is Sam. This’s my boyfriend, Gabriel.” Sam sighs. “Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” Gavin stands from the ground, unsteady. “Is she alright?”

“She’s right as rain. Worried ‘bout you.” Gabriel’s eyes flick over to a corner of the room. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I was running,” Gavin says, still a little unsteady, rubbing at his head and looking around the room. “I think I fell.”

“You were running from what?” Sam asks.

“There was… There was this girl,” Gavin says, voice shaking. “Her face.” He gestures to his face. “It was all messed up.”

“Okay, listen, did this girl-- did she try to hurt you?” Sam asks.

“What?” Gavin asks. “No, she… uh…”

“She what?” Gabriel asks.

“She… kissed me.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, looking at Gabriel for a moment. Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. Once the shock partially wears off, Sam continues. “Uh… um… but-- but she didn’t hurt you, physically?” he asks.

“Dude!” Gavin says. “She kissed me. I’m scarred for life!”

“Trust me, kiddo, it could’a been _far_ , far worse than just a kiss, trust me.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Now, do you remember anything else?”

“She, uh… actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear,” Gavin says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know,” Gavin says, irate. “I ran like hell.”

-

In another one of the near-neverending hallways, Dean leads the way, shining a flashlight to guide them. The flashlight begins to fade and flicker. He shakes it, though it does nothing to stop the flashlight from sputtering into darkness. “You son of a bitch,” he grumbles. He reaches into his pocket. “It’s alright, I got a lighter.”

Kat looks into the darkness behind them. “Ow,” she complains. “You’re hurting my arm.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean asks.

They look at each other, too far apart for any part of them to touch, and look down in near-tandem. A disembodied hand grips Kat’s arm, dragging her into a room, the metal door slamming shut behind her. She bangs on the door and screams for Dean. Dean struggles to open the door from the outside, but it does nothing. 

“Kat!”

“Lemme out! Please!” Kat begs.

“Kat!” Dean yells. “Hang on!”

Dean smashes the door with a metal pipe from the ground, then tries to jimmy open the lock while Kat’s trapped inside. 

Kat backs away from the door, staring at it. Someone breathes behind her. When she spins to look at them, there’s no one there. Dean continues to bang on the door, trying to force it open to help her out. Kat turns again, this time seeing the ghost, a tall, heavyset man with long, dark, and oily hair, his face covered in blood. She screams, backing up to the door only to back up into him, screaming again.

Sam runs down the hall with Gabriel and Gavin. “What’s going on?” he yells.

“She’s inside with one of them,” Dean says.

“Help me!” Kat screams, pressing herself into a corner.

“Kat!” Gavin yells.

Kat slides down against the door while the ghost approaches. “Get me outta here!”

“Kat, it ain’t gonna hurt you,” Gabriel says.

“Listen to me,” Sam says, quick and urgent. “You’ve got to face it. You’ve got to calm down.”

Dean turns to Sam, astonished at his words. “She’s gotta _what_?!” he asks.

“I have to what?!” Kat asks.

“Listen, kiddo, those spirits— they’re not tryin’ to hurt you, ‘kay? They’re tryin’ to _talk_ to you. You gotta face it and _listen_ to it,” Gabriel instructs.

“You face it!” Kat argues.

“No! It’s the only way to get out of there,” Sam says.

“No!”

“Look at it, come on. You can do it,” Sam says, encouraging but urgent.

Kat takes deep breaths, preparing herself to face the ghost, then turns to look at him. He leans in close to her face.

“Kat?” Gavin asks, concerned.

“Man, I hope you’re right about this,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replies.

Gavin backs off, terrified.

Cloaked in a tense and thick silence, they wait outside the door. The lock clicks and it slowly opens, Kat standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Kat,” Gavin says, reaching out and taking her with him.

Sam and Gabriel go inside the room to check it’s clear, then come out, Sam shaking his head at Dean. No ghost.

“One thirty-seven,” Kat says.

“Sorry?” Dean asks.

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number,” Sam and Dean say, at the same time.

-

Sam, Dean, and Gabriel crouch against the wall where they can’t be heard by the teenagers.

“Alright,” Sam says. “So if these spirits aren’t trying to hurt anyone…”

“Then what are they trying to do?” Dean finishes.

Sam looks at Gabriel.

“C’mon, kiddo. I mighta helped last time, but I can’t solve your mysteries every single time. What’d the point be? I might as well just do ‘em all myself, then.” Gabriel shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “‘Sides, I love seein’ the two’a you struggle. Warms the old soul.”

“Seriously,” Dean says to Sam. “You coulda had the— I don’t know, the DM of your D&D group, or somethin’, but _him_? Maybe should’ve picked someone, oh, I dunno, _helpful_?”

Gabriel glances at Sam.

“No,” Sam says, firmly. 

Gabriel sighs.

“I guess we’ll find out. On our own.” Dean gives Gabriel a glare.

“Bite me,” Gabriel says, flippantly.

“Alright,” Sam says. “I don’t know if you guys forgot this in your dick-measuring contest, but we have two _kids_ to look after right now, so…” he makes an aggressive hand gesture, urging for them to _move on_.

Dean stands. “So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?” he asks, in that authoritative voice of his.

“That’s an understatement,” Kat says, still a little shaken.

“Okay,” Dean says. He turns to Sam. “You get them outta here. I’m going to go find room one thirty-seven.”

-

Sam and Gabriel lead Kat and Gavin down a grimy hallway, hands linked, the bright white beam of their flashlight pathing their path.

“So,” Kat begins, wringing her hands. “How do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?”

“It’s kinda our job,” Sam replies.

“Why would _anyone_ want a job like that?” Kat asks.

Sam huffs out a tiny, sarcastic laugh. “I had a crappy guidance counselor,” he says.

“And here I was thinking you’d just seen _Ghostbusters_ too many times,” Gabriel says, dryly. Sam gives him a small smile.

“And Dean?” Kat asks. “He’s your boss?”

Sam looks down at her. “No,” he says.

-

Dean makes his way down an equally-grimy hallway, lit only by his flashlight, stopping when he centers the beam on room 137. He pushes on the door with his full weight, pushing aside the broken furniture holding it shut. The room’s a complete disaster. Other than the broken furniture, there are tipped-over filing cabinets on the ground with their papers scattered all over the floor and stained walls, the room in more disarray than the others. Dean looks around with the flashlight, flipping through a couple of folders in a cabinet, and tries to learn more about the room.

-

Sam tries opening a door, only to find it’s locked. When he tries another one, it’s locked, as well. “Alright,” he says. “I think we have a small problem.”

“Then break it down,” Gavin suggests, a little flippant.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Sam says.

“Then a window,” Gavin says, more irritated now.

“They’re barred,” Kat points out.

“Then how are we supposed to get out?” Gavin asks.

“That’s the point,” Sam says. “We’re not. There’s something in here. It doesn’t want us to leave.” 

“Those patients…” Kat says.

“No,” Sam says. “Something else.” He looks at Gabriel, eyebrows raised.

“Well, you’re a winner, lollipop!” Gabriel beams at Sam, then goes back to his projected neutrality. “But you know I’m not going to do you any favors.”

Sam sighs. “I know.”

-

Dean continues to search the room, finding a loose panel on the wall and prying it off, smug at his discovery. He pulls out a leather satchel full of papers and places it on a table, opening it up. “This is why I get paid the big bucks,” he says, to no one in particular.

Inside the satchel is a journal filled with notes and drawings of medical instruments done by hand. He pulls up a partially-destroyed chair and begins reading the notes, concerned with the content but intrigued nevertheless. 

“Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a _very_ dull boy,” he says to himself.

He looks up at a breathy noise.

-

Sam walks back down his hallway toward Kat and Gavin, Gabriel following him. “Alright, I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no other way out. Especially if _someone_ isn’t going to help us.” 

“If I helped you out at every minor inconvenience, it’d be very _deus ex machina_.”

“What do you _mean_? You say that a lot about him, but…” Kat looks at Gabriel like she isn’t sure of what he is. 

“What do you think he means?” Gabriel asks.

“I don’t know,” Kat says, apprehensive. “Can you, like, pick locks?”

Gabriel glances at Sam.

“Well, you tell everyone. What’s one more person?” Sam asks. 

“Name’s Gabriel.”

“Yeah, we know,” Gavin says, irritable. 

“I’m starting to lose my patience with you, kid,” Gabriel says.

“We need to—” Sam’s phone rings. He answers it. “Hey,” he says.

“Sam, it’s me,” Dean says, through a bad line. The reception is awful in the asylum, distorting his even voice. “I see it. It’s coming at me.”

“Where are you?” Sam asks.

“I’m in the basement,” Dean says, urgent. “Hurry up!”

“I’m on my way.” Sam hangs up, then looks at Kat and Gavin. “Alright, can either of you handle a shotgun? He asks.

“What?” Gavin asks. “No!”

“I can,” Kat says, smoothly.

Gavin looks at her, amazed.

“My dad took me skeet shooting a couple of times,” Kat says.

“Alright, here,” Sam says, handing Kat the shotgun. “It’s loaded with rock salt. Now, it might not kill a spirit, but it will repel it. So if you see something, shoot,” he says. Then he looks at Gabriel. “I know you don’t want to be on—”

“Yeah, I’ll watch the kiddos. But I swear to my daddy, if anything happens to you…” he threatens vaguely.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Sam gives Gabriel a little smile. Then he leaves. 

-

Sam searches through the hallways and rooms frantically, shining his flashing around almost frantic. “Dean!” he calls, his voice echoing through the empty rooms. A door opens and he rushes in, apprehensive but desperate to find his brother.

His flashlight flickers a couple times before it fades completely. He shakes it and taps it against the palm of his hand. Behind him, a door swings open. Sam swings around and raises his shotgun, approaching it carefully. The room is empty but still suspicious. “Dean?” he asks.

Behind a ragged curtain, a shadow moves, drawing his attention towards it. He pulls the curtain back to reveal there’s no one there after a thorough check. When he turns around, though, there’s an old, beaten-up man with ragged hair and clothes who grabs his face, the contact points between his hands and Sam’s face beginning to glow a blue-tinted white.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, near-robotically. “I’m going to make you all better.” It’s mocking, taking those words that are meant to be comforting and making them cruel instead. 

-

Gavin paces around the hallway. Kat’s crouching against the wall with the shotgun held close to her chest. Gabriel leans against a wall, blowing gum bubbles and watching the young couple.

“Hey, Gavin?” Kat asks, shakily.

Gavin crouches next to her. “Yeah?” he asks, quietly.

“If we make it out of here alive… we are so breaking up,” Kat says.

Gavin stares at her, shocked.

Gabriel snorts. “Yeah, saw _that_ comin’ about a _lightyear_ away.”

A noise sounds from around the corner. Both Gavin and Kat stand.

Kat raises her shotgun. “Did you hear that?” she asks.

“Something’s coming,” Gavin agrees.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows and pops a gum bubble between his teeth, making sure that the gun won’t actually hit anything at the moment.

Dean rounds the corner and sees Kat as she pulls the trigger. He jumps back, skidding around the corner once more and crouching against the wall. “Dammit, dammit, don’t shoot! It’s me!” he yells.

“Sorry!” Kat says. “Sorry.”

“Son of a…” Dean rounds the corner once more, and looks at the marks in the wall left by the salt. “What are you still doin’ here?! Where’s Sam?” Dean makes eye contact with Gabriel, stiffening. “ _Where’s Sam_?” he asks.

“Whoa, hey,” Gabriel says, vanishing the gum from his mouth.

“He went to the basement,” Gavin says. “You called him.”

“I didn’t call anybody,” Dean says.

“His cellphone rang,” Kat says. “He said it was you.”

“Basement, huh?” Dean asks. He looks around and grabs a couple extra weapons from his weapon stash. “Alright,” he says, eyes digging into Gabriel. Gabriel goes stiff at what he finds in Dean’s mind. “Watch yourselves,” Dean says. “And watch out for me!” he looks at Kat for that.

“Okay, I’m takin’ the kids outside, and _you’re_ goin’ to the basement,” Gabriel says, voice sharp. “And don’t get started on that _I’m not a kid_ shit. I’ve been ‘round since the beginning of the world. All of you are kids to me,” Gabriel says to Kat and Gavin.

Gavin gives Gabriel a weird look. “What do you—”

Gabriel snaps, leaving Dean alone in the room.

-

Dean looks around the basement. “Sammy?” he asks, shining his flashlight around. “Sam, you down here? Sam? Sam!” He turns around, jumping back and readying his shotgun when he finds Sam in front of him. “Man, answer me when I’m callin’ you!” He lowers his shotgun. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “I’m fine.”

“You know it wasn’t me who called your cell, right?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I know.” Sam looks around the room. “I think something lured me down here.”

“I think I know who,” Dean says. “Dr. Ellicott. That’s what the spirits have been tryin’ to tell us. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No,” Sam says. “How do you know it was him?”

“‘Cuz I found his logbook. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple’a asprin.”

“But it was the patients who rioted,” Sam points out. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was workin’ on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I’m thinkin’, what if his spirit is doin’ the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, makin’ them so angry they become homicidal… Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ‘em.”

“How?” Sam asks. “The police never found his body.”

“The logbook said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.”

“I don’t know, it sounds kinda…”

“Crazy?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Exactly.” He opens another door, looks inside, and jerks his head forward, gesturing for Sam to follow him in. Sam gives him a stealthy, sly look when Dean looks away. They enter the room together.

“I told you I looked everywhere,” Sam says. “I didn’t find a hidden room.”

“Well, that’s why they call it hidden,” Dean says. He turns at the sound of wind passing through the room. “You hear that?” he asks. 

“What?” Sam asks.

Dean looks around, crouching down and holding out his hand to a part of the wall. Wind blows against it, chilling his hand. “There’s a door here,” he says, standing by the windy area.

Sam points his gun at Dean. “Dean,” he says, a trickle of blood slipping from his nose. “Step back from the door,” he commands, wiping the blood onto his Carhart.

Dean rises from the floor, eyes flickering from the gun to Sam’s face, looking so unlike his brother. “Sam, put the gun down.”

“Is that an order?” Sam asks, coldly.

“Nah, it’s more of a friendly request.”

Sam points his gun at Dean’s chest, blood smeared beneath his nose. “‘Cuz I’m gettin’ pretty tired of taking your orders.

“I knew it,” Dean says. “Ellicott did somethin’ to you.”

“For once in your life, just shut your mouth,” Sam commands.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun’s filled with rock salt,” Dean says, faux-cocky. “It’s not gonna kill me.”

Sam shoots Dean in the chest, the shot blasting him backwards into the hidden door, his body breaking through the door. 

“No,” Sam says, cold and emotionless. “But it will hurt like hell.”

Dean gasps for breath from where he’s lying on the ground. “Sam!” he yells, pained.

Sam looms over him, taller than what seems like possible. 

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and all this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.”

“I am normal,” Sam says, blank. “I’m just tellin’ the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ‘Cuz you’re followin’ Dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?” Sam stares at Dean, eyes frozen. 

“This isn’t you talkin’, Sam,” Dean groans.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Sam says. “I have a mind of my own. I’m not pathetic, like you.”

“So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean asks.

“You know what?” Sam asks. “I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.” Sam glares down at Dean, making him look much smaller than he actually is. “I left _everything_ for this. My friends. My college. My interview. The only thing I have is Gabriel. Gabriel, and you. And a deadbeat dad we’re on a wild goose chase for.”

“Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you.” Dean holds out his smooth, sleek Smith & Wesson for Sam to take, pinched delicately between his fingers. “Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.”

Sam hesitates, fis hands wrapped around the weapon.

“Take it!” Dean commands.

Sam takes it and points the gun at Dean’s face. 

“You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Dean looks his brother in the eyes. “Do it!”

Sam pulls the trigger, but the chamber is empty. He tries again, and once more, the chamber is empty. He drops to the ground. Gabriel stands behind him, across the room, then appears closer to him. 

“Sorry, cupcake,” Gabriel whispers, running his fingers through Sam’s hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, but you’re being a dick.”

Dean pushes himself off the ground. “Jesus,” he says. “You said you didn’t like to Vulcan nerve pinch people.”

“You looked like you needed some help.” Gabriel gives Dean a smug little smile. He sits on the ground, legs folded, Sam’s head resting on them while he smoothes down his hair, occasionally tapping a finger against Sam’s temple to give him pleasant thoughts and drown out Ellicott’s influence.

Dean looks around the hidden room, pushing back the ragged, disgusting curtains with his pistol, exposing more and more blood-speckled gurneys. Dr. Ellicott passes behind him. Dean sees a tuft of something poking from the corner of a mostly-closed cupboard, throwing open the door to find a mummified corpse, then flinches back at the rotten, disgusting smell, gagging on the thick air.

“Oh, that’s just gross,” he mutters. He pulls out salt and begins to pour it on the body. “Soak it up,” he says, not noticing his flashlight flicker as he performs his routine duty of pouring salt on the corpse.

He drops the container of salt and grabs a tiny tin of kerosene, squirting it over the body. His flashlight flickers in the background, still unnoticed. From across the room, a gurney flies towards Dean and knocks him on the ground. Dr. Ellicott grabs his face, hands lighting up just like they did with Sam.

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeats, in that same mocking tone. “I’m going to make you all better.”

“Hey,” Gabriel calls out from where he’s sitting with Sam. He snaps his fingers. Dr. Ellicott’s corpse sets itself on fire. Dr. Ellicott, the ghost, lets go of Dean to watch his physical body burn. Dean crawls out of the way, watching Dr. Ellicott’s ghost char entirely black and fall onto the ground, crumbling as it makes contact with the hard, cold concrete. 

Sam wakes up, head still in Gabriel’s lap. He looks at Gabriel, then at Dean.

“You’re not goin’ to try and kill me, are ya?” Dean asks, half-joking, half-serious.

“No,” Sam says, blinking at being awake, mind comfortable but feeling off.

“Good,” Dean says. “Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh, you think _that’d_ be awkward? Imagine my family dinner.”

-

The sun rises as the Winchesters and Gabriel stand outside with Kat and Gavin. Gabriel has Sam’s hand in a death grip, never letting Sam stray further from him than a couple steps. 

“Thanks, guys,” Kat says.

“Yesh,” Gavin says. “Thanks.”

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean says.

The three of them watch Gavin and Kat walk to their car before turning to the Impala.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asks, quiet.

Dean turns to look at his brother. 

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I said some awful things back there.”

“You remember all that?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Dean asks.

“No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?” 

Dean begins to get into the Impala. “No,” he says. “I’m not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He shuts the door behind him and starts the car.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been two months but here she is! The rewrite of _Asylum_ , finished while hanging out with my girlfriend's cat while she's out eating dinner. I've managed to break my foot, so you might be getting more fics soon, or maybe not, what with college already in full swing for me.
> 
> What did y'all think of this one? It was pretty fun for me to write, especially because it's been so freaking _long_ since I've written for these boys. I miss them. I really do. Is there anything you'd like to see in the next few installments? (I'm really excited: as the further we get into the season, the more screwy things I get to do with canon!)
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reading, and, as always, I would appreciate comments, if you would be so kind! If you'd like to keep up with my (occasional) tumblr use, you can always [follow me there](https://the-one-everyone-forgets.tumblr.com/). Have a great day y'all!


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